Fires of Paradise (27 page)

Chapter 33

"Lucy?"

There was no answer. Shoz poked his head into her room, but she wasn't there. He wondered where she had gone off to, and if Roberto was with her, because he was also not in the house. It was siesta time, the heat particularly thick and intense, making everyone and everything more sluggish and sleepy than usual. He had thought to share the siesta with Lucy. It was too damn hot to do more than sleep, and he didn't need Lucy in order to do that. He would rather not admit the truth—that it was comforting to sleep with her beside him. It was something he could become very accustomed to.

The house was silent. He padded through on bare feet, seeking the coolness of the stone floors, his shirt hanging open but sticking to his torso. Linda was just finishing up in the kitchen, and when he asked, she told him that Lucy and Roberto had gone to the creek, probably for a swim.

"It's what they usually do during the siesta, Padrone," she added.

He had certainly noticed Roberto's friendship with Lucy. It disturbed him. The little boy was like a dry sponge, greedily soaking up the affection Lucy gave him. He so obviously needed a warm, caring mother. When he had first met Lucy Bragg, he would have never thought her mother material, far from it, but he had been wrong. One day she would be a fine mother with her own children—and that disturbed him as much as anything.

He suspected that she genuinely cared for Roberto. And although the boy needed her attention, it could only be temporary, and maybe when she left, more damage than good would have been done. He didn't want Roberto hurt.

He should tell her to stay away from the boy.

Grim, he made his way to the river. He heard their laughter and splashing before he saw them, and a pleasurable warmth spread rapidly through him. As he came closer, he watched their antics. Roberto would dive under the water, then emerge with all the fanfare of a baby whale, splashing Lucy. Submerged up to her neck, she waited for his attack, only to spray him back. Shoz softened right to his very bones.

It was bittersweet. She didn't belong here, not in Death Valley and not with them. With every day that passed, increasing their intimacy but bringing their separation that much closer, he knew it more. But she looked as if she belonged. She acted like the boy's mother, and she cooked and cleaned for him and shared his bed as if she were his wife. But she was neither of those things, not Roberto's mother, not his wife, she was just an illusion of those things, and very soon she would be gone and the illusion would be reduced to nothing more than a dusty memory.

If he dared admit it, her leaving would not just be difficult for Roberto, it would be difficult for him, too.

"Shoz!" Her cry was happy and she popped up, smiling. "Come join us!"

"Papa!" Roberto called enthusiastically.

Shoz's smile faded. "Get back in the water, Lucy, dammit!" he barked. Her chemise and blouse were translucent, her red petticoat molded to her thighs and crotch. "What if one of the men saw you?"

Lucy wasn't smiling anymore, and she had obediently sunk back down, up to her neck. "I'm always careful."

He was mad. He was mad because she was an intruder, worming her way into his family, where she didn't belong and would never belong. He was mad because she was his, at that moment, and he had never been so possessive before—if some other man even looked at her, he would kill him. He was maddest of all because in reality, she wasn't his at all.

"Shoz?" she asked, hurt.

"You should know better," he said gruffly, wishing he'd been kinder. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." He wanted to apologize, too. But he didn't know how, so he just swallowed it. He jammed his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't interrupt Roberto's fun just for his own sake. "I'm going to lie down," he said, although he was loath to leave them.

"Don't leave, Papa," Roberto cried.

"Come join us," Lucy urged. "The water's wonderful."

He wanted to, but was frankly embarrassed to horse around like some kid. The kid in him had died a long time ago; he wouldn't even know what to do if he got in that water with them. He turned to leave, not wanting to but resigned, when he was thoroughly drenched with water from head to foot.

He wheeled and stared incredulously, water dripping down his face and into his eyes, while Lucy and Roberto erupted into gales of laughter. He tried to scowl ferociously, but failed, making them laugh harder. "What the hell?"

"It wasn't me," Lucy said, wide-eyed and innocent and grinning.

"It wasn't me," Roberto echoed with the identical tone and expression.

"It must have been a helluva fish," Shoz said, making them both roar hilariously. It had been a long time since he had cracked a joke, and he found his mouth softening helplessly into a smile.

"Come on in," Lucy urged, her tone low and husky. His glance flew to hers, and she gave him a particularly inviting look. There was nothing subtle in her seduction. He wasn't immune, not at all; his blood boiled instantly, dangerously. Slyly, sensing her power, she stood and crooked a finger at him. "Come here."

Now was not the time to become aroused, but she was every man's dream, beautiful and sexy, her breasts straining the sheer blouse, nipples hard, her tone promising the fulfillment of untold fantasies. With a jolt he realized that if she chose to exercise it, she had immense power over him. He hoped she would never realize just how much.

"Please, Papa," Roberto screeched, jumping up and down.

"Please," Lucy whispered.

He looked at her, and she hit the water as hard as she could with her hand, causing it to spray him in the face— and his mouth had been open. He sputtered, shaking like a dog; she and Roberto laughed riotously. An instant later he dove shallowly in. She squealed and tried to leap out of the way, but he caught her around her knees and brought her under.

When they came up, she was wedged in his embrace, giggling. He was laughing, too, feeling absurdly pleased with himself. "With me, you can never win," he stated smugly.

She was in his arms, her body flush against his, knee to knee, hip to hip, and chest to chest. Her eyes danced. "Honey," she drawled, "I just did!"

He knew he would have to tell her that night.

After dinner, while Lucy helped Linda with the dishes, Shoz went to Roberto's room to oversee the boy's preparations for bed. Roberto was sitting on the bed, waiting for him, in a thin pair of cotton pajama bottoms. He smiled when his father entered.

"Already washed up?"

"Yes, Papa."

Shoz lifted his hands and inspected them, then took a soft earlobe between his fingers and rubbed it gently. "Ears?"

"Yes, Papa. I washed my face and hands and feet and ears and brushed my hair!" "Teeth?" He scowled.

"Brush your teeth," Shoz said with paternal sternness. Roberto reluctantly got up to obey. When the boy had come back, Shoz helped him climb into bed, covering him with the top sheet. Although it was still quite hot and uncomfortable out, Roberto liked to sleep with something covering him. He ran his hand through the boy's wet, neatly combed hair. "Sleep tight, now," he murmured.

Roberto nodded, his gaze moving past his father. Shoz turned to see Lucy hesitating in the doorway.

She smiled. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Shoz said.

Roberto sat up, beaming. "Will you tell me a story? Tell me about the time Colin took the canoe out into the ocean. Papa, he's only two years older than me and he lives on the ocean!"

"Really?" Shoz regarded Lucy questioningly. Her smile was soft. "Mother and Daddy always used to tell us bedtime stories when we were young. I thought Roberto would enjoy it, too."

Carmen never even said good night to her son, much less sent him to sleep with fairy tales. In the dark intimacy of the evening, he felt none of the anger that he had felt earlier, just the piercing of poignant heartache. How could he protect Roberto from the hurt he would feel when Lucy was gone? How could he protect Roberto when he was finding it more and more difficult to protect himself? Did she realize what she was doing to their lives?

"I don't want to intrude," Lucy added.

"You're not," he said quickly. But the irony wasn't lost on him, not at all—she had already intruded into their existence, and irrevocably she had already disrupted it. He gestured, and she came forward to sit on the bed, smoothing back Roberto's cowlick with one supple hand. While Roberto begged her for a story, Shoz's gut twisted into a knot. He should not let this go on. He absolutely must end it. He should have never brought her here, into the midst of their lives, and if he were smart, he would send her back to her family as soon as possible.

But he wasn't as strong as he had thought he was, because he knew he wouldn't free her a day sooner than he had to. He sat beside Lucy at Roberto's feet and listened to her tell an anecdote about one of her brothers, acutely uncomfortable. The situation mesmerized him, illusion nearly defying reality. This was how he had been raised, and it brought back powerful memories. This was what he had always thought he would have one day, until fate and Marianne Claxton had dealt him the first bitter blow. Tonight the illusion was reality, but he was sane enough to know it as a sham. This was not his family no matter how much it seemed so, and he would never have a family like this.

Shoz watched Lucy kiss Roberto good night. He bent and dusted the boy's cheek with his own mouth. He sighed and they left him with the small lamp on and the door ajar.

In Lucy's room, Shoz stood and stared out the window, seeing nothing but blackness, while Lucy undressed. He listened to the now familiar sounds of her clothes sliding down her body, of her footsteps as she moved about, of the splash of water as she bathed quickly and then rinsed out her things. Feelings he had thought were dead had merely lain dormant and were too intense to deny any longer. Like the hot gases of a volcano, he could feel the pressure building. Eruption was imminent. How had his life come to this hellish existence?

Before Lucy's advent into his life, he had accepted his fate unquestioningly, taking the blows with the instincts of a jungle cat, always landing on his feet. Survival in an inhospitable reality became the ultimate driving force, the overriding challenge—and distraction. The bitterness he could have entertained would have wasted valuable energy. Brooding was not in his nature. Until now. He realized her departure would affect him in no small way. Her presence had upset the careful rhythm and arrangement of his life. What had once been acceptable was now nearly unbearable.

"Shoz?" Her hand touched his back. "What is it?"

He turned, expressionless. "Tomorrow morning I'm leaving. I'll be back in a week or ten days."

Disappointment made her cry out.

He ignored her dismay, but it wasn't easy, and continued relentlessly. "After I return, I'll fulfill my promise and free you."

Her face turned white.

He moved away from her, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it onto the room's lone chair. She didn't protest. What had he expected? Maybe, foolishly, he had hoped she would tell him that she wanted to stay.

"I want to come with you," she said abruptly.

He turned, his mouth clamping into a hard line. "No."

"Where are you going?"

It didn't matter if she knew. "Matamoros."

"Take me with you!"

"I can't. I have business to take care of."

"What kind of business?"

"It's better if you don't know, Lucy," he said, and from her expression, he saw that she understood it was illegal.

Lucy tried not to be upset by that knowledge. All she knew was that she would not let him go again without her. If he would free her when he returned, then she must spend every moment they had left with him, she must. "Please take me with you!"

He walked away stiffly. If he took her with him to Matamoros, he would be ten kinds of an idiot not to free her there, as long as everything went well and remained under control. Matamoros was on the gulf. The Braggs were in Casitas. Once Lucy alerted them to her presence in Matamoros, it would take them a week to travel there. By the time they arrived in the small coastal town, he would be back at Death Valley, once again swallowed up by the voracious Sierras. It could not have been arranged better.

He did not want to take her to Matamoros. He wanted to delay the inevitable.

"Why do you want to come, Lucy?"

Her nostrils flared and her eyes were misty. She was naked and utterly lovely. She came to him and placed her palm on his own bare chest. "I want to be with you."

Her nudity hadn't undone him, and now, it wasn't her proximity. Her words were his undoing, and he capitulated completely, as completely as a man of his caliber could. "All right."

She cried out happily and embraced him fiercely. As he held her, he told himself that he was doing the right thing, the only thing. Lucy had to be freed, and the situation could not have been better in terms of his own safety. But he decided not to say anything, not yet. He didn't want to raise her hopes, just in case trouble arose as it had the last time, when he had intended to leave her in Casitas.

Because suddenly he had a bad feeling.

Chapter 34

He had that same bad feeling riding into Matamoros, and there was no reason for it.

It was several days later. Everything was arranged. Tomorrow Shoz would meet his buyer, one Jorge Lopez, and they would conclude the transaction. Tonight Lucy and Shoz would stay at the Matamoros Hotel, while his men camped in a canyon just outside of town. On this side of the border, Shoz was not worried about American government agents. If the coast guard picked up Jorge with the stolen army guns, it wasn't his problem, and he would be long gone. He expected everything to run smoothly. Tomorrow Shoz would leave Lucy at the hotel and return to Death Valley a helluva lot richer. But he couldn't shake the bad feeling. He was tense with expectation—and with frustration.

Every second brought him and Lucy closer to their separation. He might not be ready to let her go, but he had no damn choice. She was blissfully unaware, but he didn't delude himself the tiniest bit. She might miss him, but she would be ecstatic to be back in the bosom of her family. And in another month she would be back in the Bragg mansion, dressed in diamonds and silk, fending off dozens of beaux—and not missing him at all. "Look, the Gulf!"

Lucy's happiness and enthusiasm wrung the smallest smile from him. He studied her, not for the first time thinking how pretty she was. Especially when she was so happy and all smiles to prove it. The look she gave him was intimate and warm. He could feel her excitement. "Matamoros isn't much," he warned. Tonight he would tell her that tomorrow he was leaving without her.

"But it's not Death Valley," she returned, with no dimming of enthusiasm.

He couldn't have agreed with her more.

In the bright sunlight, Matamoros sat before them on the flat plain, sparkling like a diamond, with the blue, blue waters of the Gulf her setting. She was a good-sized town of white adobe homes and low-fronted stores, red-tiled roots and timbered frames. The streets were wide, flat, and dusty.\ The small harbor, naturally protected by two fingers of] marshy land, was spiked with masts and dotted with rocking vessels, mostly those owned by the local fishermen. There were one or two steamers in port, however. This close to the Gulf, there was a gentle, pleasant breeze.

They rode down the wide main thoroughfare, with Lucy exclaiming over everything as though she had never been to civilization before—as if Matamoros were something grand. "Look, a restaurant!" Her tone was wistful. "Oh, look! A mercantile and a milliner's! And look at the hotel! Is that where we're staying?"

"It's the only one in town," he said dryly.

The hotel was a two-storied, whitewashed building with three wide archways leading to an inner courtyard and garden. He didn't blame Lucy for being excited. It was amazing that she had adjusted to Death Valley the way she had, without even a single complaint. Of course she would miss the finer side of life terribly—the kind of life he could never give her.

They checked into the hotel quickly, with Lucy clinging to his arm as if to hide, and blushing at the stares of the clerk and two male guests lounging in the cool, spacious lobby. "Oh, it's lovely," Lucy cried when they entered their room.

He gave her a thorough glance. He hadn't thought about it before, but the way Lucy was dressed invited a particular kind of lewd stare—and once he left, she was going to be here for a week, alone. Downstairs, the clerk and the two male guests had beaten a hasty retreat when leveled with his murderous yet eerily flat gaze. He would make damn sure it wouldn't happen again, and after he was gone, she would just have to stay holed up in the hotel room for her own protection. He intended to arrange it.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I have to go out for an hour or two."

"Without me?"

"It's business."

She was disappointed, but didn't complain. "All right."

Impulsively he leaned down and kissed her, something he'd never done before. She was surprised; so was he. To break the awkward moment, he told her that he would order some hot food and have it sent up.

When he had gone, Lucy went to the glass doors leading to their balcony and pulled them open. Sheer white drapes pushed by the breeze fluttered against her body. There was all the normal activity of a small town in the street below, and Lucy found it vastly welcoming. Lady friends strolled with parasols and shopping bags, chatting animatedly. A few women walked with their children; a small boy kicked a ball down the opposite boardwalk. He hit a distinguished gentleman in a blue linen jacket and white trousers, who paused to reprimand him. A cotton-clad farmer wearing sandals, and a fisherman in knee-high rubber boots, came out of a saloon. Two dusty vaqueros entered it.

After a few minutes, Lucy saw Shoz leave the hotel and cross the street. At the sight of him, she smiled. She thought he was going to enter the bank facing the hotel, but instead he went into the post office adjacent to it. Lucy wondered what business he was conducting in this sleepy port town. She strongly suspected it was illegal and felt a pang of fear for his sake.

Gloom began to rise in her, fed by her fear for him, her agitation over his possible criminal pursuits, and the knowledge that they would return to Death Valley and in a couple of weeks he would free her. She shook it off. Today they were here in this quaint hotel, and she intended to enjoy being with the man she loved more and more every moment. She didn't want to spoil the day by facing the dilemma that was awaiting her in two weeks.

She inspected the room with rising spirits. It was large and spacious and airy, dominated by the four-poster bed with its white, fresh coverings. There were white eyelet curtains on the windows and a pale beige Abusson rug on the floor. There were two bergères in green and white striped silk, a little worn but infinitely inviting. Between them was a small mahogany table that could be used for dining. There was a fine bureau of pale pine, and a gilt-edged mirror over it. They had their own bathroom with running water, and a large window over the tub let the sunlight pour in.

It felt so good to be in a town and out of that hellish valley. If she didn't know that after this trip she would be leaving Shoz, forever, she would be completely thrilled.

Lucy wandered to the mirror and frowned. Seeing herself reminded her too uncomfortably of how the men downstairs had looked at her. Her clothes might be fine for Death Valley, where nobody would see her, but here she looked like a trollop in Carmen's gypsy garments. She had wanted to explore the town, but she just couldn't do it dressed like this.

She sighed. She had also wanted to dine in that restaurant. It had been so long, an eternity, since she had gone out for an evening, much less been waited on instead of doing the serving. But she couldn't go out like this. She would have to ask Shoz to get her some clothes. Then it occurred to her that if he was involved in something shady, maybe he intended to lie low at the hotel. Lucy was terribly disappointed by the possibility.

She took a bath, luxuriating for a long time in the white porcelain tub and the hot, soapy water. Once upon a time she had taken baths for granted—and just about everything else. Never again, she vowed, would she be so shallow and naive.

More than two hours had passed and Shoz had not returned. Lucy, wrapped in a thick white towel, picked at the dinner sent up by room service. She reluctantly realized that if he had ordered them a meal in the room, he didn't plan on going out at all and she certainly didn't have to worry about her clothes. Another thirty minutes ticked by, and Lucy grew worried. She staked out the balcony as twilight fell. Then she saw him crossing the street and she called out, filled with relief. Of course, he didn't hear her.

She was waiting at the door when he knocked, smiling with anticipation. She opened it and flew into his arms, missing his frown.

"What's this?" he asked, dropping a big white box on one of the bergères so he could hug her properly, with both hands.

"I was worried," she admitted, clinging. His gaze actually became limpid, but his tone was gruff "Yeah?" "Is everything all right?"

"There's been a delay," he said, running his hands over the thick towel and her rump. "We'll have to stay here for the whole week."

Her eyes widened, and she shrieked and rocked him. He laughed. "I didn't think you'd find that too hard to take."

She looked at him, her hands around his neck. "Do you mean we get to stay here, in this hotel, for an entire week''"

"That's right."

She snuggled against him. "I don't mind." His hands stroked her hair, which was loose. He released her. "Why don't you dress while I take a quick bath." She blinked.

"Don't you want to dine at that restaurant we saw?" Her face lit up, then her expression fell. "Shoz, I can't " "Why not?"

"I can't go out in Carmen's clothes."

"Damn right you can't." He turned to the striped chair and handed her the box. "Tomorrow we'll get you anything else you need."

Lucy barely heard. Laughing, her expression identical to a child's on Christmas morning, she sat on the bed and tore open the box. She exclaimed in delight when she pulled out a pale green silk tailor-made with a boned bodice and pleated back. It was an unerringly elegant day ensemble, with wide leg-o'-mutton sleeves and even wider lapels. A fresh cream shirtwaist with four rows of tiny ruffles went with it. Thoughtfully he had included all the proper underthings, even a corset, which she was certain she needed if she was to wear the tiny-waisted outfit. "I love it! Thank you!"

She jumped up to hug him happily.

Lloyd walked into the back room of Fernando's saloon, holding a telegram, his expression grim.

"What is it?" Rathe leapt to his feet. He was alone with his brother Nick, and they had been passing the time playing cards. Brett and Storm had disappeared as they did so often for some privacy; Derek and a few men had gone across the border for more supplies. Rathe refused to budge from Casitas, as it was as close as he could get to where his daughter had last been. And Nick would not leave his younger brother alone.

"News. Finally."

"What?" Rathe demanded. "Spill it, man!"

"Our informer was a bit late in relaying this information, but there's no real harm done, because there's been a delay. The deal is going to take place in one week, in Matamoros."

Rathe froze, stunned.

Nick frowned. "One week? That barely gives us enough time.''

"Just barely," Lloyd said.

"Oh, it gives us enough time," Rathe said, his eyes chilling, his tone harsh. "I don't care how many horses I kill to get there, but I'll make it."

"Relax," Nick soothed. "We can just make it, but we don't have time to plan thoroughly. We'll have to leave today."

"To hell with plans! What kind of plans do we need? I only need my fucking gun."

Lloyd and Nick exchanged grim looks. "I'll round up everyone," Lloyd said, leaving.

Before Nick could speak, Rathe jumped on him. "Don't start with that crap that we have to bring him back to Texas alive! I don't care that he wasn't in cahoots with Red and Jake and that Mr. Lloyd Government Man says Lucy would have never been kidnapped if he hadn't been jailed! She was kidnapped, and if it was Nicole or Regina, you'd want to blow his head off, too!"

"I would. But he was wrongly incarcerated for the horse theft, and every man deserves a fair trial—not murder. And Lloyd does want him alive, Rathe, and he represents our government."

Rathe laughed. "As if I care."

"You'll feel differently when you see Lucy alive and unharmed."

Rathe's blue eyes were stricken. "And what if she's not? What then!" "Then I'll help you kill him," Nick said flatly.

That night they dined on grilled oysters and drank French champagne. Shoz had also bought clothes for himself, shocking Lucy when he appeared dressed casually yet classically in a white linen suit with a double-breasted sack jacket. With his dark good looks, he seemed every inch the gentleman, and as if he belonged on a hundred-foot yacht. At her first glimpse of him, Lucy was speechless.

They dined out-of-doors on the patio, serenaded by the soft sighing of the wind in the trees and the groaning of the moored boats rocking in the harbor. The sky was full of stars. Shoz's gaze barely left her, and Lucy found herself with a rapt, intense audience. She regaled him with amusing stories, and was rewarded time and again with the flash of his white teeth or his husky laughter. When they left the restaurant, it was to walk arm in arm like honeymooners. They strolled barefoot on the beach and gazed at the moon-drenched water. That night after they made love slowly and tenderly, Lucy wept and Shoz held her, helpless to stop the flood of tears.

The next day he was better than his word. After riding out to inform his men of the delay, he took her shopping. She discovered another aspect of Shoz's character: he was unstintingly generous. He bought her another ready-made day ensemble, this one candy white with a scooped neck and elbow-length sleeves. And when she admired a stunning off-the-shoulder evening gown in draped purple chiffon, he bought that for her, too, despite her demi-protests.

They ate dinner in a little dive behind one of the saloons, Lucy in her green silk, Shoz in his white suit. The place had three adobe walls and half a sagging roof, with rickety wooden tables and a sandy floor. Behind the counter, the obese proprietor prepared the food. The other patrons were all locals: farmers, fishermen, and two clerks in their rolled-up shirt-sleeves. Shoz and Lucy were regarded with suspicion that quickly changed to the tolerance reserved exclusively for love-struck lovers. They feasted on fresh fish fried before their very eyes and crisp chips, and washed it all down with quarts of warm salted beer. Afterward they fell into the big four-poster bed in their room, too stuffed to do more than laugh and hold each other and sleep.

That night they ordered room service and ate stark-ass naked. What began innocently evolved into lechery. He couldn't resist tasting the too sweet red wine on her lips, instead of from his glass. When a drop fell on her nipple, tightening it, he licked it off. When he dribbled the liquid over her belly, she protested, but feebly. When the red wine trickled between her legs, she watched fascinated as he got down on his knees as if in worship and followed the trail with his tongue.